


All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

by nutmeg223



Series: Runs in the Lineage [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Discipline, Families of Choice, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Qui-Gon Lives, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg223/pseuds/nutmeg223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan Kenobi should know better than to even attempt to deceive his Master. Even when said Master is an oblivious idiot who nearly literally dumps his problems in his apprentice's lap. In any case, Something Must Be Done about Anakin Skywalker. </p>
<p>Also featuring Order Reformation lead by fed up Archivists, Healers, Creche-Masters, and most of the Temple support staff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The title and some of the text are taken from the prayer of St. Julian of Norwich:
> 
> All shall be well  
> And all shall be well  
> And all manner of things shall be well
> 
> Obi-Wan needs a little of that. :)

For Obi-Wan, life was always divided into stages. Initiate and Padawan, Pre-Healer Arthane and Post-Healer Arthane, Pre-Archivist Cabal and Post-Archivist Cabal.

(The last two weren't really his fault, at all. He was more forcibly dragooned into a weird mascot-ship for the Archivists, and Healer Arthane apparently adopted him as one of her own.)

But the most important division was always Pre-Vision and Post-Vision. That split the miserable first year of his apprenticeship from the rest of his time with Master Qui-Gon.

Not one of his own visions, no, but the vision Master Windu shared with his Master.

(Reportedly because: If I'm having a vision of your kriffing apprentice, then you should too, you sithsucking jackass!)

The vision that left his Master hauling arse back from the salles with Master Windu slung over one shoulder, only to dump him on the sofa so he could hug (HUG!) Obi-Wan.

The heretofore unprecedented hug, followed by his Master buggering off to go find Tahl, changed the entire course of his life.

  
And, when Master Windu came to, he expanded his vocabulary  _ exponentially _ . 


	2. All Shall Be Well

Anakin took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He could be brave, like Mom said, even if it made his stomach twist and his chest tighten. He could, really. He needed to know, and at least Obi-Wan looked less likely to bite in the warmer, daytime lights. Well, kind of less likely to bite. He still looked kind of...stretched thin? And tired, and maybe weirdly a little yellow? But yellow or not, he was probably the best person to ask, since Mr. Qui-Gon mostly just saw him at breakfast, patted his head, and asked if he was okay.

_ He _ spent the rest of the day closeted with the Queen, working through the political tangle. Which left both Anakin and Obi-Wan at kind of loose ends. Obi-Wan, at least, had Jedi things he was supposed to do, like meditate and work with his 'saber. Anakin mostly just got kicked out of the engine room, and the cockpit, and wherever else someone decided he wasn't supposed to be.

"Um, Padawan Kenobi?" Anakin tried not to pick at the side of his thumb, or twist his tunic in his fingers. They only had an hour or so to Coruscant, and he really, really needed to know what to expect.

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan looked up from his data-pad.

"Do you...do you know where I'm supposed to go if...if the Jedi don't want me?" he hated how his voice trailed off and squeaked, but Obi-Wan's blank stare unnerved him.

Obi-Wan blinked, trying to bring his brain back from the diplomatic and political  _ mess _ of Naboo and the kriffing Senate.

"I...I'm sorry, I don't know." Because yes, thank you, Anakin, he had  _ so much time _ to dedicate to dealing with overly-emotional children. And thank  _ you _ , Master, for bringing the child back and then practically  _ abandoning _ him. Wonderful plan.

"They won't...will they send me back? Or...or will they sell me on?" he bit his lip. Mom said be brave, and it wasn't brave to cry, especially not in front of a Jedi. Padawan. Whatever.

"Sell you...why would they sell...we don't  _ sell _ ...oh,  _ he didn't _ ."

Anakin wasn't sure what Kenobi was muttering about, but it sounded like he was working something out. Or having an exhaustion-induced breakdown, maybe. He wondered, sometimes, why no one else noticed Obi-Wan's dedication to Not Sleeping.

Of course, no one else slept on the common area sofa, and Jar-Jar slept like the dead.

"Um...I'm not trying to be ungrateful, but the chip is still in me, and it could be re-activated, if someone wanted to sell me. And it's...I'm  _ used _ to it, but it  _ could _ explode if I'm out of range and  _ don't know _ ...and... I'm...um...I'm really useful! I can fix almost anything!" Great, Skywalker, just nervous babble yourself into a new owner.

" _ Kriffing, sithing hell _ !" Obi-Wan muttered, viciously. " The chip? How did Master Qui-Gon find you?"

Being the focus of all Obi-Wan's scrutiny was an experience Anakin never wanted to repeat. Especially not when he looked like he really, really wanted to hit someone. Or a lot of someones. And the air just around him looked a little like heat lines in the desert, if you squinted at him.

"Um, he kind of won me? In a pod race. There was a bet, too, but he told me not to pay attention to that part."Obi-Wan muttered something that would definitely have had Mom reaching for the  _ jeffret _ root. Anakin wondered if Mr. Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan use language like that...he certainly seemed like he put up with even less than Mom.

"He  _ won _ you? You were  _ a slave _ ?"

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened so much that Anakin briefly feared for his teeth. And he didn't have to say it like  _ that _ . Like it was something  _ dirty _ .

"Yessir." Anakin muttered, dropping his eyes.

"You," Obi-Wan tipped Anakin's chin up and stared him directly in the eye. "You are NOT going to be sold, or sent back, or whatever else you're worrying about. That chip is coming out as soon as we land. I am NOT going to sit around and let a child worry about explosives packed into his abdomen, and you ARE going to be an Initiate, or I'll eat my own karking braid."

And Qui-Gon would have his _arse_ for that last speech, if he ever found out about it, since he had absolutely no authority to promise anything,  but Obi-Wan found himself past caring. He should care, since he quite liked sitting down, but he'd be _damned_ if he let a child wander about with a karking _explosive_ _tracking chip_ in him.

Anakin wondered if maybe not sleeping or eating was going to Obi-Wan's head. That was a lot of promises for someone not even a Knight, who also seemed like he didn't even really like him. He wasn't going to argue, though, since he was pretty sure that mentioning that he wasn't really  _ packed _ with explosives, just enough to keep him from running away, probably wasn't a great choice.  Not when Obi-Wan's face was doing  _ the thing _ , and he was muttering like that. Not when Obi-Wan's voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, like before a sandstorm.

"But...if they don't want me...I...I don't have anywhere to go. I can work, though! Watto mostly said I was a good worker. And I made my mom most of a really wizard droid!"

Obi-Wan paused his dark muttering to stare at the boy for a moment as his worldview rapidly rewrote itself. What he'd taken for boastfulness (almost as soon as the child literally  _ landed _ on him) was Anakin simply trying to  _ survive _ . To  _ sell _ himself before anyone else could. To have some small measure of control over his life. The thought of a nine-year-old worrying about an explosive charge embedded in his body made him want to bring up the tea he'd forced down earlier. The thought of a nine-year-old (the thought of  _ anyone _ ) worried about being  _ sold on _ ...ugh.

"That's...that's good, Anakin. You should be proud of your accomplishments. It's good to do thoughtful things, like building the droid for your mother." How _ did _ one praise without encouraging boasting? Or self-promotion? Ugh.  _ Why _ did  _ he _ have to handle all this?

"Now, is there anything else that's worrying you? You might as well get it off your chest."

A brisk subject change usually worked. Also, getting the boy to talk would at least help him shed some of the  _ misery _ he was leaking into the Force. Or, that's what several years of hanging around the Archivist Cabal suggested.

"I miss my mom. And now she's going to have to do  _ my _ jobs, too, because Watto isn't going to replace me. I just  _ know _ it."

Right, and how did one deal with a recently-freed slave ( _ nine _ ...the boy was  _ nine _ !  _ What _ was  _ wrong _ with the galaxy?) worrying after his still-enslaved mother? There certainly weren't any classes at the Temple on that one. Mostly because they involved emotions, how dreadful.

Obi-Wan made a mental note to watch the sarcasm in his head. As exhausted as he was, he'd probably slip at the worst possible moment, and let some of it fly.

"That's...certainly a lot to worry about."

"And Mr. Qui-Gon said that Jedi didn't free slaves, so…" Anakin trailed off, looking glum.

"He said  _ what _ ?" Obi-Wan took a moment to compose himself, at least a little bit. At least long enough to let go of the part of him that wanted to strangle his Master. "Can you tell me  _ exactly _ what he said to you?"

"Well, he said it to mom, that he didn't come to Tatooine to free slaves. And I'm  _ trying _ to be brave, like Mom said, but...she's still there. And everyone is really nice, here, but I'm..."

Obi-Wan lost the last bit of what Anakin said in the dreadful mumble.

"You're what, Anakin? You must speak clearly." Ugh, and now he sounded like Qui-Gon speaking to 13-year-old Obi-Wan. Maybe you really did turn into your own Master at a certain point?

"I'm...I'm really lonely." Anakin admitted, blushing. "And...and what if I'm accepted, but no one likes me? I'm not gonna be like  _ anyone _ there, and what if they think I'm  _ weird _ ? And if I'm not accepted, then I  _ failed _ and I left Mom all alone for  _ nothing _ !"

Obi-Wan breathed through the churn Anakin's emotional outpouring left in the Force, and noticed the child shivering. Without thinking, he held his one arm out in clear invitation. Qui-Gon, bless his oblivious heart, had picked up a robe for him one size up from what he usually wore, so he had extra to work with. Anakin practically dove under his arm to curl up next to him, and Obi-Wan wrapped some of the extra robe around him.  It was a bit odd being the comforter...usually he was the one shivering under Qui-Gon's arm.

"All right, it'll be all right, Anakin," he soothed, trying to bundle away the white-hot righteous rage that still simmered under his skin (will they sell me on? His  _ arse _ they'd do anything other than accept the child. And perhaps he needed a nap and a few sessions with the mind healers?). "Why don't we go over things one point at a time, hmm? First, the Jedi revere all life. All life is sacred to us, and slavery is absolutely repugnant. But, we can't just go in swinging 'sabers, as much as we might like to. Our mission was to get Queen Amidala safely to Coruscant, and we couldn't lose sight of that. Do you understand that, even a little bit?"

"I...I guess?" Anakin made himself more comfortable against Obi-Wan's side. Obi-Wan was older than him, and knew a lot of stuff, and...and felt safe, even if he kind of looked like he was two seconds from a sleep-deprivation hallucination, and was sometimes kind of a jerk. And he needed to eat. Anakin watched people, especially at meals to see what to do and how to eat some things, and Obi-Wan mostly just moved very small portions around his plate and drank tea. "So, Mr. Qui-Gon may have  _ wanted to _ help more people, but he had a job to do and couldn't not do it?"

"I can't speak for him, Anakin, but I can assure you that if it was in his power at that moment, he would have brought your mother with us. And...we'll think of something, so that you don't have to worry so much. I can't promise anything, but I have some friends at the Temple who I think might be able to help."

And if one of his Knighted friends happened to have to stop on Tatooine, and just had to accidentally free a certain slave, well then, these things just happened. And if he happened to mention certain rather cavalier actions on the part of a certain Master, and got that Master spoken to very sternly by someone else...oops?

The landing announcement startled Obi-Wan out of his musing, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He had to have at least half a plan for getting Anakin past waiting around for the Council to be ready for him, and to get the boy to the Healers as soon as they disembarked. He needed to deliver Anakin into the hands of Healers Arthane and Mehr'khet  _ before _ the Council got to him.  _ If _ he was going to help his Master, and get Anakin accepted as an Initiate (Force help him, he spent too much time with just Qui-Gon), then he needed  _ backup _ . Backup that consisted of stable, protective Healers, and the Archivist Cabal. He needed people who would keep Anakin away from the whole Council, while others simultaneously figured out which strings to pull. The Cabal consisted of the absolute worst rules lawyers the Order had ever spawned, and they knew  _ exactly _ how to paint the Council into a corner.

The whole thing gave him the  _ worst _ headache. Ugh.

"All right, when we disembark, you stay close, stumble a little, and tug on my robes. I'll take it from there." Obi-Wan sighed. At this rate, he'd be thrown out of the Order before he made it to his Trials.

"That's the whole plan?" Anakin shifted over until he curled up in Obi-Wan's lap, and sighed blissfully at the warmth.

"Unless you had a better idea?" Obi-Wan wrapped his robes around them both, and situated the boy so he wasn't leaning on anything vital. "It's certainly better than 'Trust in the Force to guide you'."

Anakin wrinkled his nose. "Whose plan is  _ that _ ?"

"Master Qui-Gon's." Obi-Wan answered dryly. "I prefer a bit more structure."

At that moment, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon approaching, so he turned Anakin out of his lap, ignoring the disappointed huff from the boy, and turned his attention back to his data pad. Anakin, bright child that he was, dropped into a chair a few down from him, and turned to his own data pad of lessons in Basic. It wouldn't do to let Qui-Gon know of his plan, nascent as it was, or at least he told himself that. He'd deal with his Master coming down on him like several tons of durasteel later. Much, much later. After he had a chance at a shower and a nap.

Or he could do his best to keep everything from Qui-Gon. For his continued health, well-being, social life, and ability to sit, that might be his best idea yet. It never ended well, but it always made life interesting until his Master found him out.

"Obi-Wan, we're about ready to disembark. Keep an eye on Anakin, please."

As he knew his Master expected, Obi-Wan cast a side-eye at Anakin before muttering,

"Yes, Master," with perhaps less grace than he ought.

"And Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon folded his hands together inside his sleeves.

"Yes, Master?"

"Do work on your shielding, and mind your temper. You have been quite...agitated this past hour."

"Yes, Master. The tangle Naboo is in is quite frustrating." Also, your habit of inadvertently dumping problems in your apprentice's lap is frustrating.

"Indeed. Mind yourself. We'll meditate together later."

"Yes, Master. Thank you for your concern." Before company, they were the perfectly composed Master/Padawan pair.

Obi-Wan felt Anakin peeping at him over top of his data pad.

"I'll be by to collect the two of you in a few minutes. Please, make yourselves presentable. I believe a delegation from the Senate, and several Council members will meet us."

"Yes, Master. Thank you for the warning. I'll make certain that we're ready."

As Qui-Gon turned to go, Obi-Wan winked at Anakin, who stifled a giggle. Sometimes, his Master's obliviousness worked in his favor, although he could feel Qui-Gon's soft, slightly worried nudge at their bond. 


	3. And All Shall Be Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan reminded himself that he really needed to start checking duty rosters before he put any in-Temple plan into motion.

As they disembarked, Obi-Wan had never been more thankful for his relatively low social status. He and Anakin followed behind Qui-Gon like mismatched ducklings, bringing up the rear of the procession. At the end of the ramp, Anakin stumbled as planned. Obi-Wan turned to steady him and crouched down when the boy tugged on his robes. He let a flare of alarm zip through his bond with Qui-Gon, as well as a hasty note of apology, and lifted Anakin onto his hip as he rose. 

"Terribly sorry, must have been something he ate. Possibility of vomit." Obi-Wan muttered, shouldering through the small crowd and making his way swiftly toward the Temple and the relative safety of the Halls of Healing. Protocol be damned, for once. 

He didn't even dare breathe deeply until he hit the corridor closest to the Healers, his expression and pace scattering Initiates and fellow-Padawans like raindrops off a Force-shield. Anakin, for his part, groaned pitifully every so often, hiding his face in Obi-Wan's robes. 

"You're doing well; we're almost there." Obi-Wan murmured into Anakin's hair, sounding for all the world like he was comforting the child. 

The Padawan on desk when he stormed into the Halls startled before her expression cooled. 

"Padawan Kenobi, is there an emergency?" Her tone was as cool as her expression. 

Obi-Wan tried to remember if he'd...oh yes, he _had_ kicked her arse all over the salles the last time he and Qui-Gon were in Temple. Five months ago? Bit of a long time to hang onto that much spite. 

"He needs to see Healer Mehr'khet or Healer Arthane, immediately." 

"They're both off-duty, _and_ he's not an Initiate, a Padawan, or a Creche-ling, _is_ he?" The Padawan returned. 

"No," Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "He's an Initiate-Candidate, and a child, which they both specialize in. He needs to see one of them, please." 

"He's too old, _Senior_ Padawan Kenobi. Your Master may give you a long lead, but _you_ don't have any authority to order any Healer visits. I don't know what you're playing at, but these are the Halls of Healing. He's clearly not in any need of that." 

Obi-Wan reminded himself that he _really_ needed to start checking duty rosters before he put any in-Temple plan into motion. 

"Are you calling me a liar?" And he really needed to check his own _mouth_ , for Force's sake. He set Anakin on the entry desk and leaned over it. 

"I'm saying that you may get away with everything by flashing your eyes at your Master, but you're not going to get anything over on me. Now, you either need to leave, or to show me an obvious need for a visit with our very busy Healers." 

What even was her problem? Suddenly, the fact that no one picked up on a long-running inner ear infection throwing off his balance as a child made perfect sense. 

"I don't know what you might have against me, and I'm leaving the crack about my Master _distinctly_ alone, but I am telling you that he needs to see a Healer, now. So you need to decide if you're here to do your kriffing job, or if you're here to sit on your digits and spin, because that seems to be what you're --" 

"What in the _world_ is going on here?" Healer Mehr'khet's voice cut across the blossoming argument. 

She strode into the Halls, trying to cover the fact that she'd practically run from the refectory on being apprised of "Padawan Melisande about to get deservedly Kenobi-ed". The blond boy sitting on the intake desk, watching the argument with the absorbed interest of a child about to hear some very bad language, was a bit of a poser. She figured she'd get her answers eventually, though. 

" _Kenobi_ ," and the derision practically dripped off Melisande's tongue. " Kenobi came charging in here ten minutes ago, bleating orders --" 

"I _don't_ bleat!" Kenobi cut in, heatedly. 

"Padawan Kenobi, remove the child from the desk and sit right there. Now!" Mehr'khet felt some satisfaction as the young man gulped, removed the child, and sat with him in his lap, exactly where he'd been told to. 

"Thank you. Now, Padawan Melisande, without the editorializing, please." 

"He was too bleating orders about how the boy was an Initiate-Candidate and he needed to be seen by you or Healer Arthane, immediately, even though it's clearly a giant _lie_ because he's too old! I was just trying to keep some semblance of order around here, and not let everything get all Jinn-ed up." 

Mehr'khet pinched the bridge of her nose and wondered if she could switch to the Archives. Most Padawans avoided it, due to Jocasta. 

"Right, Padawan Melisande, when someone comes in, whether you personally approve of them or not, and they say that someone needs treatment, then you _get them that treatment_. Am I understood?" 

"Yes, Healer Mehr'khet." Came the sulky but reasonably polite answer. 

"I think you should take some time, say while you clean out all the bedpans that are waiting for a scrub, to consider your continued field of study. Now. I'll have a word with your Master, later." 

The girl fled, thankfully, and at least appeared to do as she was told. She turned to her other problem Padawan and sighed. Obi-Wan, the silver-tongued brat, looked absolutely _dreadful_ , and wasn't covering it up very well at all. Arthane was going to have several baskets of kittens when she got a look at him. She'd only just harangued him into the barest level of healthy before he and Qui-Gon went haring off on another mission.   

"Healer Arthane is on her way in. She's stopping by to snag Archivist Mintaerael, since she 'had a feeling' we might need her, too. Now, what had you charging in here, because that's the one part of the story I actually believe?" 

"Anakin _is_ here as an Initiate-Candidate. Master Qui-Gon found him, and brought him back with us. And he really _does_ need to see you. There's a little matter of…" 

"He's trying to be really polite about my tracking chip." Anakin cut in. If he left it in Obi-Wan's hands, they'd be there all night while he danced around the subject. 

"Ah. That is a delicate topic." Mehr'khet took in Anakin's clothing. "Tatooine, I'm guessing?" 

"Yes! How did you know?" Anakin leaned forward. 

"I, um, Arthane and I have met children from Tatooine before." 

"The worst?" he wrinkled his nose sympathetically. 

"It wasn't a good situation, for anyone. But, I have a feeling you'd like that chip out. It's deactivated?" 

"Yes, Healer Mehr'khet. Master Qui-Gon apparently deactivated it. We had to leave rather precipitously after that, so I don't think he had a chance to consider removal." Obi-Wan hugged Anakin a little closer. 

"Okay, then. Anakin, this is going to be your choice, because it's your body." Mehr'khet began. "We have a scanner here, and removal is usually pretty easy. So, we can either knock you out, and you can wake up with no chip, or we can make it so you won't feel the procedure, but you'll be awake the whole time, and you'll be able to watch." 

"I want to watch." Anakin decided quickly. He mostly trusted the Jedi, but no way was he going to sleep. 

"That's a very good choice. We're going to wait for Arthane, so she can keep an eye on Obi-Wan for us, and when she gets here I can have that chip out of you in no time. You'll have to stay in the Halls for a couple of days after, though, to make sure there's no infection. Is that alright?" 

"Obi-Wan can visit? And Mr. Qui-Gon?" 

"They can spend as much time as they can with you, I promise. Any friends you'd like to visit may come." 

"Then it's alright. I'd really like the chip out, please." 

"We're here! Sorry we took forever; _someone_ needed to bring half the Archives with her." Arthane shooed a slightly younger woman in before her, stopping to pick up scattered data pads as she followed. 

"I hate not knowing what I'm walking into, Lexit, you _know_ that." Mintaereal huffed, dropping pads onto the desk with a clatter before she boosted up on the edge of it. 

"Backside off the desk. There are chairs for that." Mehr'khet nudged her off, passing a hand over her hair as she went. "You can play intake for the evening. Anakin and I have an appointment with a scanner." 

She held out her hand for the boy, gratified when he squirmed off Obi-Wan's lap to join her. She led him to a treatment room, mentally counting down before they heard: 

"And just what in the karking hell have you been doing, young man, to come in here looking _like that_?" in Arthane's less-than-dulcet tones.  

* * *

 

Obi-Wan could face down just about anything, and with a great deal of style, but all that deserted him when faced with a tiny, furious Healer. Briefly, he wondered if small, intense brunettes would be the end of him, because he seemed to be plagued with them, before he pasted on his most charming smile. 

"Healer Arthane, Archivist Mintaerael, it's been much too long. How _are_ you?" 

"Don't you give me that nonsense, Kenobi. I taught you how to use a spoon; you do _not_ get to flash your pretty eyes at me." Arthane stopped pacing, hands on her hips, to scold. "Just what have you been up to, hmm? You left here a reasonably healthy weight, and you come back looking like you haven't eaten in months? No, don't even try to answer that. I've commed Qui-Gon. You can wait until he's here to give us whatever explanation you have." 

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose; he'd been so focused on Anakin, he forgot that the Healers were...very focused on the health and well-being of the Padawans. And Arthane, first as an older Initiate, and then as a Padawan, had helped out considerably in the creche. Trying to weasel your way around the people who more-or-less helped raise you _really_ didn't go so well. Add in his Master...and he was so very dead. Dead, gone, and grounded until he hit his Knighthood, and possibly even beyond that. He stifled a groan. At least she'd stopped at "I taught you how to use a spoon."! 

"So, if you're done yelling, Lex, can I ask some questions?" Mintaerael asked. 

"Oh, why not." Arthane leaned against the desk, the better to glare at Obi-Wan. 

"So, who has the transmitter?" 

"Um, Master Qui-Gon, I believe?" Obi-Wan blinked at the question. 

"Do you know if he's had possession the whole time?" She consulted something in one of her pads. 

"I think so?" Obi-Wan bit his lip. "I'm...fairly certain it's been in his possession the whole time." 

"And he asked...Anakin, is it? Anakin if he wanted to go, and Anakin's mother for permission to take him? Before or after he was freed?" 

"I'm not sure? You'd have to ask him? I think it was both." Obi-Wan tried to concentrate on the questions, but Arthane moved to sit beside him and grabbed his hand. 

"Did he have papers? ID? Anything?" 

"I don't...why?" The question was equally to Minty, and to Arthane, who was taking finger-prick blood samples from him. 

"Because I'm trying to make sure that your Master can't be dinged, that the whole kriffing Order doesn't go down, for sentient trafficking of a minor. If he doesn't have an ID, or a planetary affiliation, and the transmitter remained in Master Qui-Gon's possession the whole time thereby giving him legal, but morally iffy, custody, and the sole purpose of removing him from his home was to bring him to the Temple for training as a Jedi (and not just the possibility of it), then I _think_ we're legally in the clear. We actually have to take him in as an Initiate, though, or there's the appearance of  trafficking. It's still revolting as all hell, though." Mintaerael concluded, looking like she had the mother of all headaches. 

"Oh...I...thank you for --" He looked down at his hands, and only just noticed the children's bandages wrapped around the fingers Arthane used. They were printed with tiny lightsabers. 

"Is everything alright? Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon charged into the Halls of Healing, much like Obi-Wan had not an hour before, interrupting Obi-Wan's stuttered reply. "I came as soon as I received your comm, Healer Arthane."   

"Wonderful, Master Jinn. Please corral your Padawan in Room 8, give his face a good scrub, and get him to change. There's pajamas in there that should fit him." Arthane squinted at a glass testing vial, where the second small sample of Obi-Wan's blood floated determinedly at the top. 

"And, Anakin?" he turned to Obi-Wan. "Padawan, you did bring him here? Has he taken ill?" 

"Anakin is with Mehr'khet, being de-chipped." Arthane explained. "Concern yourself with your Padawan, and Minty'll have some questions for you, after." 

"Did you know," Mintaerael began when Qui-Gon turned to her. She propped her chin on one hand, and smiled with entirely too many teeth. "Did you know that bringing a child from the Outer Rim into the Core, with no ID of any kind, could actually have you up on charges of sentient trafficking of a minor _if_ he's not accepted as an Initiate? That kind of scandal could bring down the whole damn order." 

"Aren't you an Archivist?" Qui-Gon gestured Obi-Wan out of his seat, and clapped a hand on his Padawan's shoulder before he could slip away.   

"The funny thing about Archivists, Master Jinn, is that we know how to research, and how to interpret what data we find. And I _prefer_ Research Librarian, anyway." 

Feeling dismissed, and dismayed, Qui-Gon quickly steered Obi-Wan toward one of the private rooms. 

"Mint," Arthane hissed, scolding. "You're getting a little worked up. He's going to be for everything, you know that!" 

"But this is exactly the kind of...of...of _batha shite_ we've been working to change! He's going to cock it all up!" 

"When's the send happening?" Arthane propped herself on the arm of the desk chair and ran a soothing hand over Mintaerael's hair. 

"Tomorrow morning, more or less first thing." 

"And you're sure everyone'll think it's coming from the Council?" 

"We've been in their comm systems for months, already. We've done a few test messages, and it doesn't look like anyone's noticed. I'm just a little worried that we'll all wind up…" 

"They can't kick out half the Archives staff, most of the sensible Healers, the majority of the Creche-Masters, and pretty much all the support staff. They'd cripple the Order. Don't you worry. If it all comes down on our heads, we'll go and start a more sensible Order." 

Mintaerael made an unconvinced noise and buried her face in her hands. 

"Stop fretting. You're making the Force all...swirly. It's disconcerting, and we'll be fine. Now, I have a patient to go and drop into the most trouble of his young life. You just stay here and route any incoming accordingly. Comm 'Khet if you need help." Arthane patted her again, and gathered herself to go and destroy any chance of Kenobi having a social life until he hit his 90th lifeday.  


	4. And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, 'young man' was better than 'young one', both were better than 'youngling', and anything was better than 'child'.

"Master, really, I can take care of this myself...you don't need to...mrmph!"

Despite his protests, Obi-Wan found himself steered into a treatment room, divested of both robe and tunic, and towed over to the sink where Qui-Gon scrubbed him under the tap like a pup. Obi-Wan sighed, spluttered, and consigned himself to a slow and painful death.

Qui-Gon toweled him off, roughly, and handed him the folded pajama shirt that waited on the counter. Obi-Wan dragged it on, and then leaned against the exam bed to remove his boots. Finally, he changed into the proffered pajama pants and looked up into Qui-Gon's forbiddingly stern countenance.

"Would you like to explain, young man, why you looked positively jaundiced today, and why the washcloth is now streaked with foundation?" Qui-Gon folded his hands into his sleeves in an attempt at not strangling the miscreant before him.

Well, 'young man' was better than 'young one', both were better than 'youngling', and _anything_ was better than 'child'. Obi-Wan swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"I haven't been sleeping very well, Master. I didn't want to worry you." Head bowed, hands folded into his pajama sleeves, he made a perfect picture of contrition. "You've been so busy."

" And, clearly, I've given you entirely too little supervision. How long has it been since you slept well?"

Obi-Wan winced. "Two months."

With that, Qui-Gon snagged Obi-Wan's wrist, pulled him close, and bent him under one arm. He snugged his Padawan close to his hip, raising Obi-Wan up onto his toes.

"Master!" The second syllable came out as a yip when Qui-Gon swatted him briskly.

A flurry of smacks followed before Obi-Wan found himself righted, breathless and smarting from his Master's reprimand.

"And, I'm going to guess that you haven't been eating, either? So, young one, how many times do you think you've lied to me in the past two months?"

Obi-Wan winced. There was nothing so excruciating as being asked to sign your own death warrant. Well, that was him well and truly _karked_.

"Probably quite a few," he whispered, face flaming at the shame of his admission.

"Why, child, would you go to such lengths to deceive me?"

"I...I was having a vision again." The truth tumbled out before he could stop it.

"A vision, child? The same one?" Qui-Gon gathered his miserable apprentice into his arms.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan nodded into his tunic. "It was...every night, the same thing. Not a dream, either, and the dread carried through the day."

"So you couldn't eat, and started meditating instead of sleeping? Why didn't you tell me, child?" He hugged Obi-Wan tightly, trying to send calm through their bond as Obi-Wan trembled in his arms.

"It was...it was...I can't, Master! _Please_ don't ask me to…"

The distress radiating off Obi-Wan concerned him, greatly. Even the worst visions never left Obi-Wan such a wreck. They denied sleep, sometimes, or made it difficult for him to eat for a short while, but they never left him so frantic.

"You must, Obi-Wan. Take courage, child. I'm here, with you."

"It was...the creature you fought on Tatooine. I was trapped, behind some field, and I had to watch as he...he _killed you_ , Master. Every night, as soon as I closed my eyes...and I couldn't. I couldn't _bear it_. Even the thought of...of losing you. I felt our bond snap…"

He tucked his apprentice closer, and let Obi-Wan weep softly into his tunic. The poor boy was absolutely done in. Discipline, for he would never accept deception from his Padawan, could come later. For the moment, Obi-Wan needed soft words and a safe harbor.

"Oh, my poor Obi-Wan," he soothed, rubbing a hand up and down the boy's back. "All will be well, Padawan. All will be well. We'll make things right between us, and speak to Master Yoda of your vision. Calm yourself, child, all will be well."

By the time Arthane knocked on the door before entering, Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the exam bed, freshly scrubbed and extremely contrite, as Qui-Gon hovered behind him.

"So," she began very brightly. "You two are off rotation for at least the next six months, or until Padawan Kenobi is no longer exhausted, malnourished, and anemic."


	5. All Shall Be Well, Except for Obi-Wan's Backside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In short order, Obi-Wan found himself bundled into slippers and his Master's robe, trailing the taller man out of the Halls of Healing.

 

Obi-Wan stared at Healer Arthane in absolute horror.

"But we're supposed to be leaving for Naboo whenever the Queen is ready to return! The Council..."

"The Council is going to have to find another team. Long term, you need rest,  quiet, and a high-iron, high-calorie diet. The  _ only _ reason you're allowed out of here is your Master.  You  _ cannot _ keep replacing sleep with meditation, food with tea, and working yourself to the brink." Arthane tried to soften her tone at the stricken look on the Padawan's face.

She'd helped to  _ raise _ him, for Force's sake, she wasn't going to lose him to his own need for self-flagellation.

"I'll make certain he gets what he needs," Qui-Gon promised, gently, for Obi-Wan's sake.

"Cut the caffeine down, slowly, or he'll have the world's worst headaches. He needs to eat at least three meals and several snacks until he's back to a healthy weight. The lightest exercise possible, preferably mostly stretching and the easier katas --"

"But --" Obi-Wan cut in at that, bereft at even the idea of losing his favorite exercise.

"One more objection and I'm busting you down to Shii-Cho until you're my definition of healthy, young man." Satisfied that she'd overridden the brief rebellion, Arthane directed her attention back to Qui-Gon. "Talk to Mintaerael on your way out. She teaches some of the children who aren't as interested in 'saber play some of the forms she learned before she came to us. It's slow, but it'll help him keep his flexibility and stamina without overtaxing his system."

"Thank you. Is there anything else?" Qui-Gon rested a hand on Obi-Wan's trembling shoulder, bolstering him against the enormity of the situation.

"I'll have everything on a pad for you at the desk. You have an appointment with one of the nutritionists in two days, and I'll want to see him every four weeks to monitor his progress. Keep him out of the 3's and up Creche; there's always some godsawful thing raging through, and any illness is going to knock him back for weeks. The infants and younger toddlers should be okay. We keep them pretty well segregated from the older ones. I will, however, see you both back here in four days for a complete post-mission workup. It's a new thing we're doing."

"Thank you, Healer Arthane." Obi-Wan's voice shook, and he sounded very subdued, but the gratitude rang true in the Force.

"Yes, thank you. I can promise you I'll be keeping a much closer eye on him." Qui-Gon tugged Obi-Wan's Padawan braid affectionately.

"See that you do." She did  _ not _ add 'you oblivious idiot', and felt extremely proud of herself for it. "And Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Healer?"

"It's not forever. You'll be back to terrorizing the galaxy in the name of diplomacy in no time, preferably with better self-care habits, though." She cupped his pale cheek and patted. "And if you should ever try to cover up sleepless nights with bits out of your Master's disguise bag, for the love of all we hold sacred, pick the correct shade. You looked jaundiced.  And now, 4 and ups vaccinations. I'll see you in four days."

With that, Healer Arthane let herself out. Obi-Wan picked at the cuff of his pajamas, thoroughly dejected.

"I don't think I've been in this much trouble in a very long time." His voice wobbled a little. "Not since Garen and I slipped out to the Pleasure Quarter…"

"And even then, you weren't medically grounded for at least six months." Qui-Gon finished.

" _ Sithhell _ ," Obi-Wan muttered, ignoring Qui-Gon's remonstrative tug on his braid. "I've gone and stuffed it all up, haven't I?"

"Come, Padawan, into your robe so we can get out of here." Qui-Gon tugged until Obi-Wan unfolded from the exam bed and looked around for his robe and boots. "Only it looks like everything was tidied already."

"Master, I can't go out in the halls in  _ pajamas _ !" Obi-Wan objected.

Qui-Gon hid a smile. "There's slippers here, and you can wrap up in my robe. It's not the end of the world, Padawan-mine."

In short order, Obi-Wan found himself bundled into slippers and his Master's robe, trailing the taller man out of the Halls of Healing. Mintaerael flagged them down ten paces out to press the promised data pad of instructions into Qui-Gon's hands and ruffle Obi-Wan's hair.

"Sorry, it got mixed up in some of mine, and I don't think obscure points of order are going to be much help. Oh, and 'Khet said don't worry about Anakin. We'll keep an eye on him; just visit for a while tomorrow."

"Thank you, we'll be back." With that, Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around his apprentice and lead the boy slowly back to their quarters.

* * *

 

Once in their quarters, Qui-Gon peeled Obi-Wan out of his robe to hang it by the door, and walked purposefully across the living room to his chair. He sat and waited until Obi-Wan drifted over and settled nervously by his knees.

"Master...you haven't...not in  _ years _ ." Obi-Wan fidgeted with his braid.

A little over a year, to be exact, but he stifled his amusement at Obi-Wan's horror.

"Because you haven't seemed to need a spanking in years, child. Although, after today, I fear I stopped much too soon."

"But Master, we've only meditated and  _ discussed _ missteps recently...I thought, perhaps…"

"Perhaps you would be forever too old? Padawan, you could be ninety-five, and I would still put you over my knee for lying to me. If you misbehave like a child, Obi-Wan, I will discipline you like a child. And from now on, you can count on having a great deal more of my attention. In a very few minutes, you're going over my knee. We'll repeat that every other night for the next five days, am I understood?"

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan's voice barely rose above a horrified whisper.

"In addition to that, you're grounded to me for the foreseeable future. You don't go out of my sight, except to the 'fresher. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good."

With that, Qui-Gon undid the drawstring on Obi-Wan's pajama trousers, swatted his apprentice's interfering hands out of the way, and whisked both trousers and underwear down to Obi-Wan's knees. He wasted no time turning Obi-Wan over one thigh, securing his apprentice's legs with his other leg.

"Do you understand why we're here, Padawan?" he began as he always did.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan answered dutifully. "I spent the last two months lying to you."

"And what was the result of your lies, my child?"

"I...Master?" Obi-Wan twisted a bit to look at his Master in confusion.

"You put your health and well-being in extreme jeopardy, my Padawan. I will never accept a lie from you, and I will equally never accept you treating yourself so dreadfully. I had thought that you trusted me enough to come to me with your troubles, and it grieves me that you would rather try to kill yourself with denial of basic needs than simply speak to me."

"But Master, I --"

Qui-Gon landed the first spank, eliciting a gasp and squeak from Obi-Wan.

"For now, my little one, it isn't your place to protect me; it is my place to protect and to guide you. I'd like you to think very hard about your reasons for withholding, and why you show yourself so little compassion."

That said, he set about delivering a smacking that Obi-Wan would long remember as the worst of his life. Not for the intensity or the duration, but for the emotion behind it. He swatted slowly, methodically painting a soft flush over Obi-Wan's backside, before beginning the circuit again.

Obi-Wan managed a certain stoicism for the first several rounds of slow, crisp spanks. It wasn't until Qui-Gon achieved a deep, even pink flush across his backside that Obi-Wan shifted and squeaked at the sting.    


"Master!" he objected as Qui-Gon simply shifted him back into place and continued swatting. "Ow! I understand! Really!"

"Really?" he asked with punctilious interest. "I think what I'm hearing is less understanding, and more my young Padawan wanting to save his bottom further spanks. The shade of red your backside achieves is not under your control, child. You need only consider what I've asked you to."

"Master! Please!" Obi-Wan clapped a hand over his mouth at the childish plea. Just because he felt young and small jack-knifed over his Master's knee was no reason to give in to ridiculous begging. "Ow!"

Obi-Wan felt his breath hitch, and the first tears trickle down his cheeks as Qui-Gon began again, raining fire down on his vulnerable backside. It hurt,  _ Force _ but he'd forgotten how much it  _ hurt _ . Each smack, though, loosened something tight and heavy and aching in his chest, millimeter by millimeter, until the first damning sob broke free.

He wept freely as his Master raised his knee and spanked him, hard, right where he sat. He'd feel it every time he sat down, every time he moved, for days, and he  _ still  _ didn't have and answer to his Master's questions.

"Master! Please!" he begged. "I don't know! Please, I don't know! I'm sorry!"

He went limp over Qui-Gon's knee then, all fight, all pride drained from him. Only a sorry Padawan remained, who needed his Master to help him through the tangle of trouble he'd created.    


Qui-Gon landed one last flurry of swats, right where Obi-Wan would feel it most, before he stopped. He rubbed Obi-Wan's back, gentling his sobbing Padawan. When Obi-Wan's sobs quieted slightly, he slipped his pajama trousers back up, and manhandled the boy until he collapsed against Qui-Gon's chest. Qui-Gon wrapped Obi-Wan in a strong hug, sending his love for the boy through their bond.

"I don't know how to answer you," Obi-Wan's voice hitched and stuttered over the words.

"Then we'll discover the reason together, my Obi-Wan. You're not alone in this, child." Qui-Gon soothed, holding the boy close until his tears ceased. "You've done well, child, and you're forgiven. But, you must learn to forgive yourself, as well."

Obi-Wan felt content to stay cuddled on his Master's lap for the rest of eternity, dignity be damned. Of course, like anything, eventually the cuddle needed to end. Obi-Wan found himself turned out of Qui-Gon's lap at the first, jaw-cracking yawn, and towed into the kitchen.

"Drink this down, and then bed." Qui-Gon ordered, handing him a glass of the wretched meal-replacement slop the Healers seemed to stock by the liter.

"Ugh," Obi-Wan hazarded a complaint, but did as he was told.

Once he drained the glass, with many a moue of distaste, Qui-Gon directed him straight to his own bed. He found himself firmly tucked in for the first time in several years, with his Master sitting on the edge of his mattress.

"You may get up only to use the 'fresher, or to find me, is that understood?" The gentle brush of Qui-Gon's hand through his hair softened the stern tones.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan yawned.

"I'll let you know when you may be up. You don't need to worry about that, right now."

"Yes, Master." He knew he slurred it, but he was on the edge of a very gentle sleep for the first time in months.

"Sleep now, child. I'll keep watch over you."

"Mmmnrh." Obi-Wan's last coherent thought was that he should probably have made more of an effort with diction.

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice drop into true, healing sleep, and sighed softly. He rarely had truck with the Unifying Force, but he got the distinct feeling that he'd changed something important, and for the better. He wondered if Tahl might have some insight.

Later. When Obi-Wan was awake and trailing him.

Because last time he left his Padawan after something like that, Tahl had proved that blindness didn't equal a lack of aim, and had bashed him over the head with a data pad for being an idiot. 


	6. Epilogue: Things Aren't All Well Yet, But Qui-Gon Is Trying, Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Drink your tea." Qui-Gon pressed a mug into his hands, and returned to his data pad.  
> Obi-Wan took a grateful swallow, and promptly spit it back into the mug.  
> "That," he began, accusingly, "is NOT tea. That is barely tea-flavored steamed milk."

Obi-Wan stretched and luxuriated in the feel of his own bed. As fantastic as it felt, though, he knew he couldn't sleep for any longer. He rolled over, looking for the chrono on his desk, and blinked. No chrono. He sighed, realizing that Qui-Gon had likely removed it from his room -- one of his standard first steps in dealing with Obi-Wan's occasional bouts of insomnia. He felt Qui-Gon, awake, in the living room, so he sent a lazy request through their bond.

Receiving an affirmative, he rolled out of bed, groaning. Every wrenched muscle, bruise, and strain from the past few months made itself known. Months of bathing himself in the Force kept him from feeling all the stresses back-to-back missions put on him, physically and mentally, but you had to pay for it at some point. And earning himself a smacked backside on top of all that?  _ Ugh _ . Not that his Master ever left him  _ incapable _ of sitting, just...distinctly  _ disinclined _ . He hobbled to the 'fresher to at least attempt tidying up a bit before showing his face in the living room.

Once in the living room, though, he went straight for the sofa where Qui-Gon sat, reading something on a data pad. His Master didn't even need to look up; he raised his left arm so Obi-Wan could snuggle under it, and pulled the throw off the back of the sofa to tuck around him.

"Mmmm," Obi-Wan hummed, blissful. Qui-Gon put out heat like a  _ furnace _ , and Obi-Wan had always found the Temple a bit chilly.

"You will need to move, eventually, you know," but Qui-Gon hugged Obi-Wan a bit closer, anyway.

"Moving is overrated," Obi-Wan let his eyes slide shut, content to be lazy, for once.  He didn't particularly have a choice, in any case. He felt like he'd been run over by a herd of bantha.

"I thought you'd sleep the night through. I'll accept two hours as a nap, and you'll be in bed early." Qui-Gon tweaked Obi-Wan's braid.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed.  _ Ugh _ .

"Would you like me to see if we can have our evening meal with Anakin tonight? I think the Healers thought you'd sleep longer, but they  _ might _ be willing to allow you in. Provided I promise that I'll have you in bed directly after we eat."

Sometimes, Obi-Wan really  _ despised _ Qui-Gon's sense of humor.

"Master, even the youngest Initiates don't retire directly after evening meal."

Qui-Gon suddenly felt  _ sharper _ through their bond, and Obi-Wan knew that if he looked up, he'd be on the receiving end of an extremely stern look.

"And you're under Discipline, young one. If obeying gracefully is beyond you at the moment, I can send you back to bed, and provide you with a meal there before the lights go out until morning?" The mild tone belied Qui-Gon's utter seriousness.

"No, Master. Thank you." Obi-Wan subsided into a slightly sulky silence. Despite all but standing on top of the Temple and  _ demanding _ such with his behavior, being treated like a child grated.    


Especially knowing that he was in for  _ months _ of the same.

"Drink your tea." Qui-Gon pressed a mug into his hands, and returned to his data pad.

Obi-Wan took a grateful swallow, and promptly spit it back into the mug.

"That," he began, accusingly, "is NOT tea.  _ That _ is barely tea-flavored steamed milk."

"And other than one mug in the morning, and one mug in the afternoon,  _ that  _ is what you'll get. You need to cut down on the amount of caffeine you're drinking, or you'll never sleep again." Qui-Gon removed the mug from his hands. "And if you insist on spitting it out like an ill-mannered brat, then you won't get any."

Obi-Wan glowered at the entire world.    


_ Ugh _ .

* * *

 

A short while later, Obi-Wan trailed Qui-Gon back to the Halls of Healing, still glaring at his Master's back. Tampering with another's tea practically amounted to a capital offense in their quarters, and Qui-Gon could've at least  _ warned _ him instead of spending half an hour  _ lecturing  _ him about his manners. Even after the lecture, and some time spent meditating, he felt himself dancing right up to the line between a stern word and a stinging physical reminder to behave. But, at the moment, he didn't much care. He felt a bit...strange...truth be told. Like someone had suddenly let the lid off, or something. Rather like a very sharp, barely controlled descent, but for his emotional state.

They entered the Halls, and Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon back to one of the private rooms. He didn't particularly need to follow; Anakin's excited tones carried into the main ward. As they got closer, he could differentiate the words.

"And...and Healer Mehr'khet let me see my own  _ spleen _ ! She had a scope that she used, and everything! Mr. Qui-Gon! Obi-Wan! I saw my spleen!"

Some days, Obi-Wan really envied the younger set their enthusiasm. Master Windu, however, looked a bit like he regretted his decision to visit.

"That sounds very educational, Anakin. Did you thank Healer Mehr'khet?" Qui-Gon smiled beatifically at the excited boy, having lost any and all squeamishness three Padawans ago.

Especially after Obi-Wan's cohort all came down with Tirithan 'flu at the same time, their 15th year. The vomit alone...

"Uh huh. I didn't know that's what I looked like, inside.  _ And _ Mr. Windu told me that I get to stay as an Initiate!"

Anakin's beaming smile, and the effervescent affect his mood had on the Force, finally raised a smile from Obi-Wan.

"That's wonderful, Anakin." Obi-Wan wondered at the  _ joy _ emanating from the small boy. "Perhaps when you're more recovered, Master Qui-Gon will allow me to give you a bit of a tour."

"Wonderful." Mace sighed, and  _ didn't _ pinch the bridge of his nose. The kid was...not horrible. A little excitable, and definitely NOT like the well-mannered younglings in the Initiates dorms, but...passable, with some work.  Kriffing visions. "I'll take my leave. Welcome, Initiate Skywalker."

"Thanks Mr. Windu!" Anakin chirped, possibly blissfully oblivious to Mace's twitch at every Mister.

Obi-Wan didn't know if he'd ever seen anything more beautiful. He tucked the image away to share with friends, later. Much later. Preferably when he was no longer restricted to remaining within Qui-Gon's sight.

So, roughly on his 900th life day, then.    


"I hope you don't mind, Anakin, but Obi-Wan and I came to keep you company during the evening meal." Qui-Gon sat in one of the visitor's chairs and gestured for Obi-Wan to do the same. "We should be eating soon."

"Wizard!"

"So, you're to stay as an Initiate?"

"Uh huh. Yoda and Mister Windu came to see me after I could feel my toes again, and then Archivist Mint...Mintar…"

He looked to Obi-Wan for help with the unfamiliar name.

"Mintaerael," Obi-Wan supplied.

"Archivist Mintaerael came in before they finished asking me questions, and when they went out of the room with her, I'm pretty sure there was yelling."

"Oh, really?"

At Qui-Gon's sharply interested question, Obi-Wan looked anywhere but at Anakin. Or his Master. Force, he hoped Anakin could keep a secret. Or several. He wasn't entirely sure how Qui-Gon would react to his...workaround.  _ And _ he still needed to find someone headed past Tatooine. Blast!

"Uh huh. Something about child trafficking, and the appearance of wrongdoing. And...um...the Holonet? I'm not too sure about that one, though. She seemed really upset by something called  _ forums _ . And Healer Arthane went completely _mental_ on two other Council Members? I think. _They_ were trying to get her to reverse her benching you. But I only heard that because they really yelled."

Anakin, Obi-Wan noted with some satisfaction, seemed to understand completely how to tell a story without telling the  _ whole _ story.  _And_ how to deflect with another, more interesting bit of information. Brilliant. Stood to reason, though, that he knew you couldn't exactly give away everything.

"But," he continued. "She brought some data pads for me so I can start reading some of the stuff the other Initiates already know, and I won't be so behind. Some of it's even in Huttese!"

"Well, that must make it a little easier for you. You are continuing the Basic lessons?"

"Yessir." Anakin answered dutifully, although he sounded less than thrilled. "I'm working through that, first. Um..."

"Yes, Anakin?" Qui-Gon prompted.

"Could...do you think...would it be okay if I...can we let Mom know I'm okay? I don't need to comm her, 'cause I know that's expensive, and she'll be working...but can someone get a message to her? I don't want her to worry." Anakin mumbled his way through his plea, worrying at the edge of the blanket.

"We'll figure something out, Anakin. I promise."  Qui-Gon answered him gently.

Of course, if Obi-Wan had anything to do with it, Anakin's mother would be comfortably ensconced a short way from the Temple as soon as it could be managed. He had no idea  _ where  _ this new, conniving streak sprang from, but he refused to complain. Anyway, the back of his neck tingled as it always did when the Force agreed with his choices. He wasn't about to disagree with  _ that _ ; it only ever lead to complete disaster.

And if Qui-Gon had a few things to say about his apprentice maneuvering apparently  _ all the things _ , then he could just stick them. On further thought, that was likely not the attitude to take when one was looking down a stretch of at least six months of being grounded, with one's Master putting up with absolutely nothing.

He probably needed to stop spending so much time with the Archivist Cabal.

* * *

 

 

'Fresher, pajamas, bed.

Qui-Gon's (specific and not to be disobeyed) order sent Obi-Wan scurrying to do as bidden...a few hours previous. To his eternal mortification, Qui-Gon again tucked him in and gave him the same directive as for his earlier nap. So, Obi-Wan tossed, turned, and attempted a series of meditations designed to help the agitated achieve sleep.

Like hell would he go in search of his Master, in a way he hadn't since just after Mandalore.

The meditations failed. (Those meditations? Always failed.)

With a sigh, Obi-Wan waited until he felt Qui-Gon's presence in their bond slip into sleep. He could, if necessary, nudge his Master to wakefulness, but like hell he'd do that, either. He thought he ought to be bothered by his own contrariness, but couldn't quite manage to find his behavior inappropriate. Judging enough time passed, Obi-Wan slipped out of bed and headed to the 'fresher.

He splashed some water on his face and made his decision, even as his stomach tightened a bit at the thought. He straightened up and went to find his current book in the jumble of data pad and chips on table closest to his side of the sofa. Back into the kitchen for a glass of water, and then he could…

Obi-Wan yelped as he found himself bent under Qui-Gon's arm and briskly swatted. His data pad dropped to the floor.

"Master!" he objected, as another powerful smack hit its target.

"Was I in some way unclear as to what I expected of you tonight, young one?"

Qui-Gon's tone remained mild, even as he slipped Obi-Wan's pajama trousers down.

"Master!" Obi-Wan objected again, his toes trying to find purchase on the floor.

Being put over his Master's lap was mortification enough; being held under one arm as if he was still fifteen and inclined to sass...Ugh! Especially since his pajama trousers, with nothing to hold them up, puddled on the floor around his toes.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice held clear warning. "Was I unclear?"

"No, Master." Obi-Wan answered dutifully. "But, Master --"

"No, Obi-Wan. I made myself very clear not five hours ago. If I didn't know better, I'd say that I'm currently dealing with a Junior Padawan, just entering his rebellious teens, and not a Senior Padawan preparing for his Trials."

Ugh! Really, Master? Thankfully, Obi-Wan managed to keep his sass behind his teeth. Nothing like hanging bare-arsed under your Master's arm to really encourage discretion.

"But, Master--" Obi-Wan tried again and hissed as Qui-Gon swatted him.

"Clearly, I haven't made enough of an impression on you, if you continue to argue," came the quiet comment from above.

Blast.

Residual tenderness soon bloomed into sore heat as Qui-Gon administered another thorough smacking. Only a few minutes in, Obi-Wan's breath hitched, and the first tears tracked down his cheeks. He had no idea  _ why _ he felt compelled to disobey his Master on such a small thing.

He'd never,  _ never _ been so blatantly disobedient before. Inclined to sass? Yes. Sarcastic? Yes. According to some, stubborn? Well, according to some, yes. But to willfully and deliberately set out to disobey a directive? He had  _ never _ listened to one of Qui-Gon's orders, lied about agreeing, and then done the complete opposite of what he was supposed to do.

"I have never thought that my Obi-Wan could be so blatantly disrespectful, and so deliberately naughty." Qui-Gon scolded. "Have I paid you so little attention these past few months that you're compelled to hold it by whatever means possible?"

"No, Master!" Obi-Wan yipped through the tears dripping steadily from his face, cringing at the word 'naughty'.

"No? Then  _ why _ would my beloved Padawan, who I know to be an honorable young man, lie to my face so he could creep about our quarters hours after he was meant to be sleeping?"

Qui-Gon moved his hand down to paddle Obi-Wan's sit spots, and Obi-Wan sobbed. He tried to answer, but found himself overcome, unable to speak through his tears.    


"Sorry, Master! M'sorry!" he wailed, appalled at his own behavior.

Unable to say much more, he opened himself to Qui-Gon through their bond, and let his Master  _ feel _ his sorrow, repentance, and regret. His own feelings, though, were swamped by Qui-Gon's concern and...and love. Obi-Wan sobbed harder, toes trying to drum against the floor, as his Master's care and love for him held him safe through a truly monumental walloping.

Finally, finally Qui-Gon finished, leaving him thoroughly wrung out. Obi-Wan wobbled a bit on his feet when Qui-Gon finally righted him, still leaking equal parts tears and penitence. His breath hitched in his chest, and another rain of tears trailed down his cheeks when Qui-Gon righted his pajama trousers. Then, though, then Qui-Gon gathered his into his arms. Obi-Wan clutched at his pajama tunic like a child, and wept. Qui-Gon held him close, one big hand splayed over his upper back, and the other cupped at the back of his head.

"My poor Obi-Wan has had a very hard day," Qui-Gon soothed, patting his back. "We'll put everything to rights, child, shh. All will be well, you'll see."

The combination of the hug and his Master's soft words soon helped Obi-Wan find some calm. Sniffling, breath catching with the aftermath of weeping, he looked up at Qui-Gon.

"I  _ am _ sorry, Master. I don't...I don't know  _ why _ …" A few more tears escaped.

Qui-Gon hugged him tightly before turning them both toward the 'fresher. He kept an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, leading him gently. Once in the 'fresher, he turned Obi-Wan loose only long enough to grab and wet a facecloth. He took his Padawan's chin in his hand, and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks before holding the cold cloth over Obi-Wan's puffy eyes.

"Why, my child, is because right now, for some reason, you need to test. You have had a harrowing few months, both emotionally and physically, and you're only just now feeling safe. You're letting the safety catch off, and perhaps you're giving yourself an excuse to weep. Hmm?" he kept his voice very soft, not wanting to startle his overwrought apprentice. "But, not to worry, little one. I'll be here to catch you every time you need to test your boundaries, and put you back on the right path."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan's voice still caught a bit, but he sounded much calmer than he had.

He allowed Qui-Gon to chivvy him gently from the 'fresher, and startled when his Master stopped him from turning toward his room. He found himself tucked under Qui-Gon's arm again, and lead into his Master's room.

"I think not, young one. You had your chance to sleep in your own room. You lost that privilege with your poor choices tonight."

"Master, I'm not a child!" Obi-Wan balked as Qui-Gon held up the covers.

"No, you're not. Which means, of course, that you're too big to sleep perpendicular to me and wake me with vicious toes to the kidneys. A small blessing. Now, in, before I decide your backside isn't hot enough."

Apparently, even Qui-Gon's legendary patience could be exhausted. Obi-Wan slid under the covers, trying to get as far over as he could in the big bed. Qui-Gon followed and put out the lights. Obi-Wan lay on his side, attempting to take up as little space as possible. That lasted until Qui-Gon reached over and yanked. Obi-Wan yelped, scrabbled against the sheets, and found himself held under Qui-Gon's arm, his face against his Master's chest.

"Master!"

"I'm not going to have both of us unable to sleep through your radiating tension, child. This doesn't even rank as the closest sleeping quarters we've shared. Now, please try to sleep."

Obi-Wan fidgeted a bit, but soon felt himself lulled by Qui-Gon's steady heartbeat, and the big hand rubbing his back.    


"I'm afraid to sleep, for the nightmares, Master." Obi-Wan whispered into the dark.

"Shh, I'm here, Padawan-mine, and if there are nightmares, then I'll wake you. Close your eyes, and let yourself rest. Hmm? Let the exile be restored to the house of sleep."

  
Obi-Wan felt himself relax, felt himself start the slow slide into deep slumber, and let the combination of Qui-Gon's heartbeat and the gentle rumble of his voice deliver him gently into dreamland. 


End file.
